This poem is taken from Stand 230, 19(2) June - July 2021.

Kayleigh Campbell Death of the cherry blossom
It is our house and it is not our house.
White patio doors; neat emerald grass.
I’m trying to save something. I can’t see what it is.
You are in the living room, behind glass.
Our daughter is beside you. Her face is blurred.
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